50 Shades of Fanfiction
by LulabelleMLP
Summary: Anastasia is the 33rd child of a Factory; a hellish prison where children are raised to kill one another. Kept there until her twenties, she was certain she would never see outside it's walls, until a cybernetically enhanced man who calls himself, Grey, frees her from the nightmare she'd known all her life.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: A Taste

Anastasia was a twenty something woman from the industrial city of Borgond. She had no last name; property of the Factories were never given names. And although she had been freed of the Factory she had called home, she was still a prisoner.

She was bound and gagged and thrust sideways onto a black mare now, the man who 'rescued' her from the Factory, holding the reigns. He had told her his name was Grey, right before he had bound her hands behind her back. He was strange, and Anastasia felt deep down that the man who had saved her was incomplete. He had stared at her with blazing red eyes, a fury present in them that she herself had kept hidden deep within her gut.

The Factories were hellish nightmares of places where you were kept hidden and tortured; subjected to the whims of the Doctors and made to fight other Colleagues. "Collies," the Doctors had called them, right before they ordered them to kill each other. Anastasia shuddered thinking about all the blood. All the empty eyes that had stared back at her.

She was lucky; a man had come to take her away and while he had treated her poorly, anything was better than the Factory that fueled such hatred and fed such madness. As the man called Grey shifted slightly in the saddle, Anastasia caught a glimpse of a tiny tattoo right below his left ear. It was a triangle with a series of numbers on one of its sides, a date on the other. Anastasia's eyes grew wide. "He's been upgraded," she thought, now understanding why she had found him so strange. Even though the Factory was a place of torture and death, it had also been a place of learning. The Doctors made sure each Collie knew the ins and outs of Dundona.

Upgraders were considered to be Elite humans; men and women (and sometimes, children) who chose to be outfitted with experimental cybernetics. These people were either poor or sick or some were said to be former captives of a Factory. The fatality rate for upgrade operations was said to be one in three.

When Anastasia was little and first learned of the Upgraded, she had hoped to the sky that one day she would get chosen for one of those operations. She knew of the death rate but still, she wished for it every night.

She knew that with the operation, one way or another, she would find freedom and her bloodied hands would be unbound from the Factory. Never did she think that ten years later, a man with blood red eyes, would whisk her away from the place.

Since Grey had kept her eyes unmasked, Anastasia was able to see high mountains pass by in the distance. She had never seen the outside before; she'd only ever read about the different climates and landscapes Dundona had to offer. But words could only say so much, and the sea of green that passed underneath them along with the cerealuean of the sky overhead, were so much more vivid than she imagined possible.

Grey had been rough with her, this much was evident with her current state, but he had done her a kindness, even if it had been unknowingly, and she thanked him silently from the bottom of her heart because this was the first time in a long time she had seen anything besides blood.

As she watched the sun dip below the hillside, she saw a vast sea unfold before her. Here, Grey slowed his mare and got off. He paid no mind to Anastasia, just walked his horse closer to the ocean.

"Time for a bit of rest, eh old girl," he mumbled, running a tan, slender hand over the ebony fur of his horse.

Anastasia watched, mesmerized by how gentle the hands that had bound her so roughly, could be used in such a kind way. And deep down, her inner goddess, wondered if those hands could ever show her that same kindness.

After a few moments of silence, a breeze blew around them, its invisible fingers tousling Grey's dark chocolate hair, his hands fumbling awakwardly to smooth the unruly strands back into place. Anastasia thought Grey looked almost childlike then. He must have felt her gaze on him because he squared off his shoulders, straightened his posture and turned towards Anastasia.

"I'll remove your gag if you're quiet," he said, his eyes like smoldering embers dotting the now dark skies.

Anastasia nodded and Grey removed the scarf from her mouth. For a moment, his forefinger brushed against her lip; his skin calloused and cool. His touch made Anastasia quiver, a feeling of wanting swirling deep inside her. She blushed at this, at how easily she could be stimulated. And by a stranger no less. Grey didn't seem to notice her shudder, that, or he didn't care enough to make note of it, and began to until that ropes that held her hands.

Each accidental touch of his fingers against her bare skin, sent electricity up her spine. She wanted to jerk away; it was just too much, too new, and too scary. Was this normal? Or was Anastasia different? She had always been told she was special. Is this what the Doctors had meant?

Once Grey had finished and Anastasia felt the normal pallor of her cheeks returning, she tried to hop off the horse. But her muscles were too stiff and exhausted. She teetered back and forth for a few moments before she slid right off. She braced herself for pain but felt none.

Instead, she felt the cool touch of the hands that had excited her so, wrap themselves around her, lifting her upright. And just as suddenly as she felt their gentle embrace, they disappeared, leaving her heart racing, her cheeks glowing the color of the communist manifesto.

"You're name's Anastasia," a deep syrupy voice growled from behind her. Her heartbeat quickened. She felt her knees begin to buckle and she reached a hand out towards the mare's flank for some stability. She didn't turn towards Grey. She couldn't. She could feel her excitement coloring her face, a lurid twinkle was surely present in her eyes. She couldn't let him see her like that.

He continued, "I've watched you for a while now."

At this declaration, Anastasia couldn't help but turn around. Her eyes met his. And for the first time, she really took him in. Tall, chiseled, muscular, drop dead gorgeous. She wondered if he'd had his looks upgraded when he had the operation. "How," she asked, trying to look away but finding herself unable to do so. The steadfastness with which he gazed upon her, free of judgement, made her want to run. He was dangerous, of this she was certain, but in what way?

"I merged with the security software at your Factory," he stated. His voice seemed so stoic, so freed of emotions. Maybe he had grown up mute and had the operation to get a voice modular? Anastasia's mind raced with all the possibilities of why Grey had chosen to be upgraded.

And then he spoke again, his voice snapping Anastasia free of her thoughts. "I'd been searching for you for a long time." Anastasia stood in shock.

So many things were happening to her so quickly. She had been freed, seen the outside for the first time on a horse, and met a man who spawned such an unrelenting desire within her, she had been sure she had succumbed to madness. And now her gorgeous rescuer with eyes the color of war, had told her he'd been searching for her.

"Why would you look for me? How did you even know I exist," she mumbled, her eyes focused on the ground. She couldn't stand Grey's gaze any longer.

"You're special, Anastasia. You're a child of the Factory. The 33rd child, to be exact, and I need you," he pleaded, his voice sounding far away. She looked up at him, his gaze focused on the sky above. In those scarlet eyes, she saw sadness, a deep eternal sadness. Grey looked so broken right then. Had the Factories made her that broken too, she wondered.

Just as she was about to ask him what he had meant, he turned towards her; seemingly having sensed her lips beginning to part. "I can't tell you anymore. There are… secrets needing to be kept." And then, as an afterthought, he added in a soft whisper, "It's easier that way."

Anastasia disagreed with him; she hated all the things that had been kept from her at the Factory, but she couldn't voice her disdain. Something about how Grey looked made her words get caught in her throat.

"Grey," she called, surprised by how frail her voice had become. He turned toward her and simply waited for her to continue. But the words never came. If I trust you, where will you lead me too? Anastasia was too afraid of the answer so instead she asked another question. "Mind if I go and clean myself off?" she looked toward the sea. Grey just nodded.

She had never felt the ocean before but as she felt the water splash against her feet she jolted upright. "It's cold," she exclaimed. But after a few moments to adjust, she found it comforting and the subtle way it crashed against her skin, refreshing. She walked further into the ocean until she was waist deep in its clear, crystal waters. Then she poured a couple of handfuls over her face and head, the filth washing off her.

As she did this, she looked up towards the moon. It hung low in the sky, and Anastasia felt as if she could reach up and grab it. And as she took a free hand and lifted it toward the moon, she felt relieved her childhood dream hadn't come true.

She never would have felt the ocean, had the wind run its way along her body, the sensation of her hair being whipped into her eyes, exhilarating. She never would have met Grey. It was then that she noticed she had begun crying.

"Tears," she said reaching a hand to her face, rubbing the warm wetness between her fingertips wondering when had been the last time she'd cried. Then, she turned towards the shore, looking at where Grey had been standing, though now he melted into the darkness. "Hey, Grey," she yelled. She continued, not waiting for his response, "If I go with you, will I be able to wash my hands free of all this blood?"

A few moments passed before she got a response.

"If you go with me," he said, his voice sullen and heartbreakingly honest, "I'll require you to spill more blood."

Anastasia sucked in a breath, icy and stagnant. It began choking her. More blood? Hadn't she done enough?

As she was getting lost in her thoughts, she heard Grey's voice again. "Anastasia, I need you…" he yelled, his voice cracking under the weight of some invisible sorrow that seemed to be strangling him.

Anastasia's tears flowed freely now, tears for herself and for Grey, and before she knew what she was doing, she was running back toward the shore, toward Grey. Soaked through and disheveled, a wet crying mass before the man who had given her her freedom, Anastasia collected herself, stood upright and gazing straight into Grey's eyes, told him, "I'll go with you."

She attempted a smile and the most vivid one she'd ever given anyone, appeared on her face, threatening to split her head in two. Grey just nodded and mounted his horse. He turned toward Anastasia and outstretched his hand. Without hesitation, she grabbed for it, welcoming the cool touch and calloused texture; taking her place behind him on the horse, this time as a partner and not as a hostage.

A glimmer of hope shot through her body and as she gazed one last time at the ocean, she believed that one day she could finally be free. Grey nudged the horse and it began moving forward, neither of its riders knowing where their journey would lead them. If only they had known...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Bite of Truth

It had been three days since Christian Grey had set off with every intention of killing the 33rd child. But something had changed inside him the moment she had stared back at him with those empty dark blue eyes.

She was striking, the way she stared into him, hunched in the corner of a bloodstained room, her opponent laid out on the other side, blood pooled around the large gash in her neck.

The Factory had turned her into this savage, dangerous creature. He new that the years of abuse there had tore her humanity from her. How could he be expected to end her life when he hadn't even been sure she had had a life?

He had chosen to give up his humanity. Where had her choice been?

They were now in the town of Claive, a small place nestled in the dense forests on the eastern side of Dundona. And in the middle of the night, Christian stood over her, watching her sleep soundly bathed in moonlight. She was a completely different person from the one he had first met.

He could kill her. It wouldn't take much to snap her neck with his enhanced strength. But he couldn't bring himself to do so. Nothing held him back; he had been freed long ago of what bound him to guilt and regret.

But when in front of Anastasia, he felt so naked. As if the man he once was, had returned. And that man was someone he despised more than anyone. Christian then noticed sweat beading on Anastasia's porcelain brow. Night terrors again. When he had asked her about them, she had simply responded, "That's how I've always slept. Is it not normal?"

 _Poor girl,_ he had thought then and did so again as he reached down to wipe her forehead with his hand. He noticed himself wanting to let his hand linger, trace the lines of her face, run his fingertips over her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips, and a moment of fear grabbed him. "This should not be happening," he muttered, swiftly removing his hand from Anastasia and heading for the door of the room. Christian needed to escape.

Outside the tiny hut they had rented from a farming couple, Christian stood, blue smoke rising from the tip of a cigarette. Because his body chemistry was enhanced, he got his energy from alchemically altered goods. The cigarettes he smoked were such goods, and emitted an eerie bluish smoke. The people of tradition on Dundona, feared anything mechanically or alchemically enhanced so Christian deliberately smoked at night where he could easily hide.

This night, unlike most of his recent nights, he was deep in thought. He needed to kill Anastasia but wasn't able to. Instead, he had decided to drag her into his mess, his war, where he was certain she'd get hurt.

His inner godhood had never been so conflicted. When he had truly been alive, he had used many women. He had bound their bodies to himself; them his beautiful obedient tools. He used them to get want he wanted and then threw them to the wayside, their pockets full of coin, their purposes fulfilled.

The women enjoyed their time with him all the same; the seduction, the fantasy, the adrenaline, the wrong they committed. But he had shed that persona many years ago. Why did his desire to completely dominate return when he met Anastasia? What was it about her that made him want to unmistakably make her his?

It was too late now. She had agreed to help him, had even shed tears for him. And he recalled how that night by the ocean, he had ached to taste her tears and then devour her entirety. "Damn," he exhaled, a puff of blue escaping into the darkness. He could feel himself getting erect. The cool night's air wasn't working the way he'd hoped.

"I don't love," he spat. "I fuck...I fuck... up everything," he added, a thick self depreciating venom clinging to his every word. Christian took one last puff on his cigarette before putting it out between his fingertips and heading back inside, where he had luckily thought to get his own room.

A crunching of twigs underfoot told of something in the forest. That something, reached down to grab Christian's cigarette, taking a few long sniffs of it under their nose, an eerie pearlescent smile on their face. The mysterious stranger took out a tiny circular device. A thin voice echoed from inside it.

"Well," the voice asked.

"He smokes. That' new. He used to be concerned with his health," the forest guest responded, rolling Grey's cigarette between her index finger and thumb. The voice at the other end of the device sighed in annoyance.

"Not that, Elena. Did he fall for her?"

Elena flicked the cigarette butt into a small thorny bush.

"Of course he did. The 33rd is still human and as much as he doesn't want to admit it, so is Christian Grey."

"That's good news. Return." The line suddenly cut out and then after a few seconds, static came humming through the channel.

"Yes, Doctor," she said begrudgingly, crushing the transmitter in between her palms.

Before leaving, she turned back towards the cottage that housed a sleeping Anastasia and a frustrated Christian. Elena's smile grew on her face. "Oh, Christian. If only you knew what actually went on at your upgrade operation."

She slipped a remote from her pocket.

"No, no, no, Elena. We mustn't make things too easy. Having him do our bidding? It's simply too boring."

With that, she shoved the remote back into her pocket and disappeared into the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: A Revelation Hard to Swallow

The 33rd had been only six when she took the life of the 21st. And on that night, he had watched the 33rd effortlessly snap the other girl's wrist taking back the blade the 21st had used to slice at the her and lodge it deeply into the 21st's neck.

His gaze never leaving the 33rd, he had watched as she stared at the lifeless body beside her, blood pooling around her knees. In that moment, witnessing the success of his pet, he had never felt more fulfilled as a Doctor.

A slightly audible buzz of static wafted through the stark and pristine white room. And while it normally wouldn't bother anyone, it bothered him and he opened his eyes, rubbed his temples and put on his glasses.

He had dreamt about the first time the 33rd had captured his eye. He had been seeing that dream a lot lately, and he was sure his most recent experiment had been its cause. Making sure every last strand of his slicked back ebony hair was still in its place, he leaned back in his chair, smiling. Today was the day. Today was _his_ day.

He extended a pale, bony finger towards his desk, pressing the intercom.

"Fetch me the 57th," he commanded, a triumphant tone in his relatively high-pitched voice. The last run of tests had been completed and today the real fun could finally begin. Night after night, he had worked tirelessly to recreate the experiment that had made the 33rd so special. And now, the Doctor would put the 57th under a microscope and see if his work had paid off. He had imagined the pair's reunion over the past months; the surprised face the 33rd would make, the hatred and madness that would overtake her and the 57th, the bloodshed that would inevitably be spilt.

Both the 33rd and the 57th had been raised at the Factory around Borgond. And they had both killed many of the other children. The Doctor wouldn't exactly describe the pair as friends, but if you could have something akin to that in such a place, those two would have been so. He was delighted that their reunion would end in a glorious spray of gore, but that had been what she commanded. You never went against the whims of Madame Grey.

The Doctor flashed a smile as he thought of how troublesome the 33rd had become. And it would not have been so had he not played his part. When he first became a Doctor and had been placed at the Factory around Borgond, he had been given a very special Collie to look after. The 15th; a _boy_ (quite a rare occurrence for a male to survive the initial phases of a Factory) who wore a buzz cut, and was too quiet, too easily excitable and far too afraid.

Within his first week as a Doctor, he saw the 15th slashed open, from his neck to his thigh, guts sprawled out on the floor as he slowly died. But because of Doctor's research, and the way he had enhanced the 15th's anatomy, he had been given a second chance and was allowed to work on the 33rd.

He had studied her relentlessly, called on her endlessly, running test after test. The way she killed without hesitation, without thought, her body moving on its own to draw her opponent's last breath; this mesmerized him. Over time, she became his obsession. So much so, he had given his pet a name.

 _Anastasia_.

When she had been abducted from the Factory, the Doctor had been heartbroken. But when he found out by whom she was rescued, he couldn't have been more excited. It was an opportunity for him to study two exquisite human specimens. And now, with his work almost completed, he would add another exceptional being into the fray.

The Doctor looked up from a pile of notes, to see his two assistants wheeling in a large metallic box. He smiled, a rare sight that sent a wave of unidentified fear through the assistants' bodies. He quickly dismissed his assistants and ran a bony finger over the top. As he did so, he felt a thump and saw the box buck forward. It landed on its side with a thud. The Doctor just broke out into laughter, very pleased by what had just gone on.

"You know it's me. Of course you do."

The Doctor crouched down to peer into one of the quarter sized air holes on the side of the box. He saw a sliver of murky grey staring back at him through the darkness. It was wet, dripping with some sort puss.

"Oh dear," he sighed, "That's a side effect of all those medications you've been ingesting."

This was disheartening. The final stage had always had the highest mortality rate. If he didn't tread carefully now, the 57th would end up being disposed of like the others. He sighed knowing that his plans would be delayed.

Another thud came from the box. The Doctor, laughed, his despair melting away at the 57th's display of tenacity. "Still, you're ready to go, eh? That's a good 57th."

He gave the box a tender pat, the kind of touch a man would give his lover, on one of its corners.

"I wonder if she'll recognize you?"

Two violent thumps came from the box, rolling it onto its other side.

"Don't be silly," the Doctor chided, "I'm sure Anastasia will remember her beloved Kate."

He moved from the box over to his desk and pressed the intercom.

"Yes, Doctor," a cheery voice inquired.

"Take the patient back to her cell. And get her on an antibiotic drip; she's having complications from the latest doses. She'll be ready to send off in two days."

"Yes, Doctor. Right away. Oh, um, Doctor, Elena's here.

The Doctor sighed. "Let her in."

Elena strode into the Doctor's work space, a whirlwind of disarray, touching the Doctor's tools, changing the pages in his books and marring his impeccable white marble floors a muddy forest brown. The Doctor moved with hurried steps to correct everything Elena had touched, him being a man of strict order.

Once the Doctor was satisfied with the placement of a few test result documents, he took a seat opposite Elena, behind his imposing metal desk and equally imposing hard back chair. "So, what's up Doc," Elena jested, relishing in the way the Doctor's face contorted in disgust. He hated her humor, her very being, but he had been forced to oblige her. He continued, business as usual, ignoring the smirk on Elena's face.

"The 57th will be ready in two days."

"I thought I was here to pick her up now," Elena retorted while shoving a sour cherry into her mouth.

When she bit down on the engorged fruit, the juice went everywhere; a blue mist coloring many of the Doctor's important documents.

He sighed again. "You don't even try, do you," he asked, exasperated. She stuck a blue coated tongue out at him.

"You're the farthest thing from Traditional I know, Doc," she shot back.

She smiled again, as she popped another cherry in her mouth, this time intentionally biting down hard enough to get a good gush of liquid to splatter the Doctor's lab coat. "So why's she not ready?"

"Complications. Keep an eye on the 33rd and I'll send the 57th to you."

Elena rocked forth in her chair, her obvious displeasure at the delay evident in the way she wrinkled her face.

"Let's get this show going," she whined, "I'm bored."

She then reached into her pocket and pulled out the remote; tossing it over and over in her palm, as if deciding something. "Elena! Where did you get that," the Doctor screamed, surprise and horror in his voice. Elena laughed.

"I had it made. Works just like the original. Tested it out some time ago." She watched as the Doctor's pupils grew wide, his face tensing with worry. "Not in any noticeable way though. No need for all that concern."

When the Doctor had managed to collect himself and was about to speak, Elena got up, crushed a few more cherries between her now unnaturally blue stained teeth, and headed towards the door. She looked back at the Doctor once, and with an unrestrained threatening tone in her words, she reminded the Doctor of what he should never forget.

"He's mine, Doc. Not yours. And surely not your cunt boss's. That bitch, that 33rd child or whatever, she's all you get."

He watched Elena go, clearly distraught, her threat still on his mind, her revelation gripping at his sanity. She had made it all too evident what she wanted and how she would go about getting it. "If she could control Christian Grey," he thought, dread tearing at his insides, a vision of blood erupting to the forefront in his mind, "Things will only get worse. Much, much worse."

Once he had calmed himself and was sure Elena had gone, he returned to his desk, wiping up a few beads of sweat from his forehead and then a few pools of cherry juice he had missed. His finger went for the intercom again.

"Yes, Doctor," the cheery voice asked again.

"Get Madam Grey the phone."

There was a pause on the other end of the call and then in a voice filled with uncertainty, "Doctor... But she," the voice fell silent.

Another long pause. The Doctor had no need of annoyances now. "Spit it out girl," he growled, a desperation in his voice, violent and unrelenting.

He heard a heavy sigh and then she continued, "But Madame Grey hates being bothered."

"There's been another complication. She needs to be informed," he spat.

"Yes Doctor. I'll call her right away."

The Doctor leaned back in his chair, postulating the many ways Elena could destroy everything he worked for. And all with a simple press of a button. A sigh escaped his lips before he could swallow it back down. Sitting in his lab in much needed solace, the Doctor removed his glasses and rubbed at his temples again. Things were getting messy. First the delay with the 57th and now Elena. He was certain Madame Grey would order Elena's death. And he would gladly oblige. But he hoped he'd be able to get to her before she got to Grey. The idea of someone that upgraded completely submissive to that psychopath made him very afraid.

But just as he felt fear, he felt a stronger sense of excitement overtake him. "Well, Hyde," he said to himself, a hand running its way through his hair, "You may get to see Anastasia sooner than you thought."

The very idea of Anastasia covered in blood, entranced by madness, trying relentlessly to kill him, made the Doctor giddy. He missed his precious 33rd. Renewed by his certainty of their reunion and his eventual order to kill Elena, he put his glasses back on and picked up a vial of blood.

He had preparations to ready.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The First Course

The morning of Anastasia's fifth day together with Grey was memorable. The sun had pricked at Anastasia's eyes, a sensation completely new to her, and even though she had felt it every morning since Grey had freed her, she hadn't gotten used to it. The warmth of the sun on her skin, like gentle fingertips, prodded at her, pleading with her to wake up. There was something energizing about the sunlight.

Perhaps it was because the sunlight served as a reminder that she had been freed of her years in the Factory. Light there had always been cold and sterile; bright enough to showcase every part of you for the Doctors to leer at and inspect. No matter what Anastasia had worn at the Factory, she had always felt so naked there. So vulnerable.

As she opened her eyelids, she peered at the room, the way she'd done every day, wondering when her dream would end and she'd be back in the Factory getting injections and tests done on her and being forced to kill. But every day she saw a room, warm and comfortable, no bars surrounding her, no muffled screams weaving their way into her head.

And then she focused on his face. She saw red eyes gazing at the outside. _He's here_ , she thought, a smile forming on her face because she knew he was there watching over her. Keeping the screams and all the red dreams at bay. No matter how distant he had become towards her during the day, he always allowed himself to care for her at night.

Each day, she committed these mornings to memory; the sunlight, its warm embrace, and the pair of ruby eyes that stared off to someplace faraway, searching for answers in the darkness. Anastasia was too afraid of the Doctor. The Factory. She was sure they were looking for her and that if they wanted her found, she would be.

"Morning," she mused softly, still a bit groggy from waking up. Grey kept his gaze on the window looking incredibly conflicted. Anastasia held in her breath. She never knew what Grey had been thinking about, especially over the past few days when most of their time spent together had been spent in silence, but something was off this day.

A sharp pain ran through her chest. It'd happen to Anastasia anytime she'd look at Grey. Though she tried to feign ignorance she knew she was saddened by how distant he'd been with her and how she longed for his touch.

Anastasia got up, straightened the long nightgown Grey had gotten for her, and began making her way towards him. Before she could reach out and touch him, he thrust a package at her.

She stared at it and at Grey's detached red eyes. Ever since they had left Claive, Grey hadn't looked her in the eyes. She didn't understand what she could have done. Perhaps her very presence was irritating him.

On more than one occasion, he'd have to go out of his way, procuring clothes and basic neccessities for her. And there was no debating that she was another mouth to feed. _Maybe_ , she thought, _he regretted having saved me._

The tapping of his heel against the bare hardwood floor pulled her from her thoughts. He looked toward the box, goading her to open it without telling her to do so.

Anastasia ran a thin porcelain hand over the top before opening it up. The box reminded her of those the Doctors had given her to play with before she had started killing other Collies. They had always been puzzles and if you solved them within a certain timeframe, the Doctor would give you a hard candy. Anastasia had treasured those candies and those days when her hands had been pure and free from blood.

Feeling Grey's eyes still upon the box, Anastasia opened it and found a dress. It had been the softest one she'd ever felt aside from the nightgown Grey had gotten for her their first night in Claive, and it had a beautiful sheen about it when the light hit it just right. It was black and floor length, with thin shoulder straps and a rather plunging neckline.

Anastasia blushed as she thought about herself wearing it. And at the thought of Grey studying her in it, his eyes unreadable but burning into her nonetheless. She held it up to herself, the thought of Grey seeing her in the dress still on her mind, the blush on her cheeks deepening.

"What am I to do with this," she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Grey hadn't really said much of anything to her over the past couple of days and when she had mustered up enough courage to ask him anything, his responses were always curt and cold. The brief glimpses of gentleness he had showed her were all but phantoms now. He might as well be a Doctor, Anastasia had thought, more than once, on the roads beyond Claive. She wasn't sure he'd answer her; most of the times when she hadn't asked where they were going or if they could rest, he had simply ignored her.

Anastasia had been treated much, much worse while in the Factory but the way Grey had been completely indifferent to her now was just too cruel. Why had he even shown her any kindness in the first place if he was just going to take it all away? And why did he insist on staying by her side while she slept and being the first thing she saw in the morning?

The silence continued between them and while Anastasia was almost ready to give up and retreat back to the bed, Grey turned toward her and looking directly in her eyes spoke, "I need you to do what I brought you to do."

Anastasia's heart sunk. For a brief moment, when his eyes had met hers, she felt a swell of longing lift off her heart. She hadn't realized just how much she'd missed Grey's attention until right then but he had only looked at her to tell her she would need to shed more blood.

"Just like a Doctor," she murmured under her breath. No matter where she went or with whom, she was just a tool to be used for someone else's whims. Grey seemed to sense Anastasia's displeasure and cut off her words before she could even speak them.

"This was your choice," he reminded her. She had never forgot. She had simply hoped that maybe once, maybe he, would be able to see her for who she was.

There was a bitterness in her voice as she addressed him. "When," she asked, not wanting to know, not wishing to color her hands that violent shade of red she had been commanded to do so time and time again.

"Tonight," Grey replied, indifferent and withdrawn, his facial features highlighted by the dim light of early morning. "You'll be a guest at his dinner party."

"Why can't you do your own dirty work," she spat at him, angered by his request, heartbroken by how detached he'd become.

"It's not a matter of why I don't do it myself. You agreed, Anastasia, and now I need you to fulfill that agreement."

His tone was almost businesslike, infuriating Anastasia more.

"I only agreed because you looked so sad back then!"

Grey's eyes froze on Anastasia for a moment before returning back to the sky outside.

"The reason why you agreed doesn't matter. Just that you did."

Anastasia sighed. She felt teardrops prick the corners of her eyelids but she held them back. She couldn't let him see how lonely she was, how reminiscent of the Factory his treatment of her had been.

He continued, dismissing the evident frown on Anastasia's face and wetness in her eyes, "You'll need to be discreet."

Discreet? That had never been required of Anastasia when she was at the Factory, tearing through her opponents' veins or slicing through their flesh.

The more aggressive the kill, the more unique and gory, that got you compliments from the Doctor. And maybe a hot mash for dinner and a soft pillow for bed. She had never been rewarded for killing discreetly. What Grey asked of her, she couldn't do.

"I don't kill discreetly," she said, returning to the bed, eyes on the dress she now ran through her fingertips.

As she looked at the shiny fabric that reminded her of her first night with Grey, the night she had felt the ocean and his sadness, she thought that it was a shame to have to dirty it with all that bloodshed. And then she wondered if anyone had ever thought that about her when she had been a child; before they had replaced the puzzle boxes with knives.

"You won't have to kill discreetly, just do so away from where you might be seen."

"And how am I supposed to do that," she questioned, watching Grey roll a cigarette back and forth on his palm, confused. She'd never witnessed him smoking before.

"Seduction," Grey told her, staring up from his cigarette and turning toward Anastasia.

She was shocked. Killing was one thing. Using her body to do so was another entirely. She had never been with a man; only girls had stayed at the Factory and Doctors were given strict orders to keep their Collies sterile. Anastasia didn't know the first thing about seduction.

Nervously, she asked Grey the first question that had come to mind. "Who's the target?"

Grey kept his gaze on her and Anastasia felt a familiar desire stir within her. "Elliot. Elliot Grey. My brother."

And as the last of his words escaped his mouth, he moved closer to her, positioning himself on the floor in front of her, his face a hair's breadth away.

"And don't worry about the seduction," he whispered, grabbing a strand of her hair and pulling it towards his lips, twisted it around his fingertips, "I'll teach you all about it."

With that, he left a gentle kiss on the ends of Anastasia's hair, all the while staring into her eyes as if witness to her inner most being, stealing the breath from her very lungs.


	5. Chapter 5

"Walk toward me," he commanded, his eyes locked on Anastasia's figure.

The silver dress suited her, he knew it would, and he knew his brother would be immediately taken by her. That had been his plan. But now, as he stood looking at her, a slight quiver in her stance, he wished he could lock her up here.

Keep his brother, keep everyone from staring at her as he did now. His need to completely dominate her, a need he had kept barely at bay on their travels, was rising to the surface.

 _Keep it together, Grey,_ he reminded himself.

Anastasia walked toward him, hobbling on the black leather high heels he had also gotten her. Her struggle was adorable. He wanted to push her down on the bed, like he had done in his mind over and over, and take her all in. But he refrained himself, a power within himself he had not known he'd need. Especially after shedding his humanity. This conflict raging inside him, should not be something an Upgraded should have experienced, yet here he was, an awkward and dazzling Anastasia in front of him, his hands balled by his sides, his need to touch her almost unbearable.

"You need to get used to walking in those heels," he sighed. "And sway your hips side to side more. Become more alluring."

She stared back at him with innocent confusion.

"I've killed many people but never once did I need to learn how to walk I heels," she said frustration clearly in her voice.

Grey took a few steps toward her and placed his hands on her hips. Anastasia's face immediately blushed.

"The people you have killed," he said into her ear, his hands rocking her hips from side to side, "were people trying to kill you too. My brother will not be murderous tonight and so you shouldn't appear so either."

He let go, his hands shaking. The heat of her skin, felt on his own, had him erect.

Grey walked over to grab a small disc from inside a brown satchel. He placed the disc in his tear duct and waited for it to initalize. Once it had, a spider webbing of green ones and zeros, floated in front of him, Anastasia's gaze on him unwavering.

"Play," he commanded.

As soon as he did, a soft purring of melody encapsulated both of them. The human of with dilemmas instruments wafted in and out of Anastasia's head, the song most pleasant.

"What is this?" she asked as Grey moved forward, thrusting her hand out in front of himself waiting game for her to receive the gesture.

"A song," he said, taking her small hands into his own, her not knowing what he had wanted. He placed her other hand on his shoulder, his around her waist.

"Follow me," he commanded and she did so obediently.

Anastasia moved clumsily at first, the height of her heels knockimg her off kilter, her weight thrown into Grey's broad chest. She smelled faintly of honey; the smell intoxicating, making Grey want to throw his arms around her tiny shoulders and never let her leave his embrace.

He guided Anastasia around the tiny room, rocking her back and forth, his fingers trembling as they traced her hips.

"You need to move more fluidly. Glide along the floor. The most beautiful women always come across as effortless," he said.

She nodded, moving her long limbs in tandem to the beat of the song. Once her movements had become more natural, Grey could see the corners of her mouth turn up into a smile.

A wave of guilt washed over him and he grimaced. He should have no emotions; he was made free. Unbound by guilt, he should be able to use this girl and then throw her away once her purpose was served. But Anastasia made him waiver, made him question his plans. He looked at the hands that nervously grabbed his shoulder. They were quivering. And they had been covered in so much blood.

What right did he have to make her kill more? He might as well be a goddamned Doctor.

The long fabric of the dress caught on Anastasia's heel. She tripped and fell backward on the bed, pulling Grey along with her. He lay on top of her, her eyes piercing his own, pleading with him not to kill and begging for his touch.

"You don't know what you do," he mumbled. Anastasia looked up at him with a curious gaze. He sighed and ran a hand along her cheek.

"You don't just take people's lives," he said as he leaned in toward her. "You give life."

He licked her neck. Anastasia released a moan, her cheeks flush.

"Take me for example," Grey whispered, his licks turning into small bites. He nibbled on her earlobe. "I gave up my life but you, Anastasia. You brought me back from the dead."

Grey couldn't resist anymore. He ran a hand up her leg, slipping it under her dress. He could feel her tense up, her back arched. Pressing his desire against her, he kissed her forehead. But then the music stopped, the spell broken. Grey pulled away from her, removed his hand from under her dress.

"Don't," Anastasia cried out, clasping her hands around his neck. He looked at her with surprise as she pressed her body into his. "Don't stop," she continued as she placed her lips to his. They were soft and warm and trembling. She released a soft moan as she pulled away from him. Her gaze met his.

"You make me feel alive," she whispered. "Please, Christian. Continue making me feel alive."


	6. Chapter 6

Anastasia didn't know why she'd said the words she had but that didn't make them any less true. She wanted Grey to touch her. To make her feel alive.The only other time her heart had beat so quickly in her chest was from the adrenaline when she was pitted against another Collie in the Factory. To be able to feel while not shedding blood, this was something new to her entirely.

Grey looked at her with his piercing eyes, his gaze burning deeper into Ana's body. She thought she would melt right then and there under him, her body twitching in anticipation of his touch.

"You can't ask that of me," Grey whispered as he pulled off her.

Anastasia's face fell immediately. Had she done something wrong? She got up and grabbed on to Grey's arm.

"Grey—" she began before he cut her off. Shaking free of her grasp, he turned to face her with empty eyes.

"You can't ask me to make you feel alive when I've forgotten how to live myself."

With that, Grey plucked the music disc from the air and threw it on the table. He left the room, slamming the door behind him, leaving Ana to herself, tears dripping down her face, catching in the folds of the dress Grey had bought for her.

She wasn't crying for herself; Ana was crying for Grey and the words he'd said with indifference. _I've forgotten how to live, he'd said._ Ana shook her head as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

"No," she whispered. "You don't want to remember how to live."

 _Why Grey? What had life done to you?_

Anastasia was left alone at their home in Claive until nightfall. When Grey finally reappeared, he smelled of smoke and spirits, his red eyes murky, his handsome features pulled downward in a grimace.

He had changed, switching out his worried clothes for finely pressed linen trousers and a white shirt. He wore a navy the around his neck and had a navy blazer draped around his arm.

He didn't look at Ana.They were back to that; no talking unless necessary, no touching, no glances. Ana's heart seized up in her chest and her mind wandered back to earlier. His touch had been so warm, so gentle, as if Grey had been trying not to break her. She'd never been treated so kindly.

"It's time," he said, removing a black mask from her pocket and placing it in Ana's hand. He had a similar one colored ivory that he tied around his head. Ana ran her fingertips over the lace covered mask.

"What's this for? To help me kill discreetly?"

Grey shifted in his polished leather shoes, a smile bending the corners of his mouth upward. "Eliot's party, it's a masquerade party."

Ana didn't know what that meant but she did as Grey had done and tied that mask around her face. It was unconformable and decreased her periphery view. It would make it more difficult for her to quickly kill Grey's brother.

"Here," Grey said, his hand grasped around the hilt of a silver dagger.

He held it out to Ana. She stared at the dagger, at the way the moonlight glinted off the polished blade. She had never seen a weapon used to kill look so clean.

The ones the Doctor forced her to used had been rusted, coated in blood, the edge chipped away from overuse. They were barbaric tools that ripped and tore flesh in excruciating chunks instead of delivering one clean death blow. She hesitated to take the dagger.

"Go on," Grey said. Ana didn't move. With a sigh, Grey strode toward her and thrust the dagger into her hand. He glared at her. "You need to do what I say."

With wet eyes, Ana stared up at him. "But if I do that, it'll be harder for me to separate you from a Doctor. And I don't want to think of you like that."

Grey turned around, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "Maybe you should," he said as he stepped out into the night. "After all, I'm using you to kill my brother. I'm no better than a Doctor."

Ana couldn't disagree. Grey was using her. She looked at the dagger he'd given her. She would stain it's blade with another man's blood. She wouldn't know why she killed him or even if he deserved it; she was commanded to do so and would because to Grey, she was just a means to an end. He might as well start calling her Collie.

Outside, Grey had arranged for a black carriage to take them to the party. Two large white horses drove the carriage, a stout man in his fifties holding the reins. He looked at Ana with lurid milky eyes, his lips parting showing Ana a row of rotting, yellowed teeth. She grimaced as she placed her hands over her bosom.

 _Why can't he be the one I'm to kill?_

Grey extended his hand and waited for Ana to take it. She looked past him, past his gesture and lifted herself into the carriage. She was about to sit down on the cushioned seat when Grey grabbed het wrist.

"I'm worse than a Doctor," he whispered in her ear. His other hand brushed a few strands of hair away from her ear, his breath tickling the nape of her neck. "Worse because I know what you've bran through and I still require you to do more."

His grip tightened around her wrist, his lips grazing her earlobe. Anastasia couldn't help but release a soft sigh. As conflicted as her head was about Grey, her body aches for him. Any attention he gave it rousing a desire deep within her to have him dominate her.

Before Ana knew what was happening, Grey had turned her around, her rump landing hard against the seat. Grey's face was mere inches from her own. "If anything happened to you," he started, his fingers intertwined with her hair. "If anything happens to you…" he continued, leaning in closer.

His eyes looked pleadingly into Ana's. He was looking for her to protest, for her to tell him to stop. But Ana had no protest, no desire for him to stop.

His lips grazed hers, gentle kisses being placed on her mouth. But then she felt the breadth of his desire, his lips pressing full force into hers, his tongue demanding entry into her mouth. He pinned her to the carriage wall, his kisses frenzied and full of a passion he'd tried to suppress. Ana placed her hands around his neck.

"You can," she whispered as their lips parted. "You can make me feel alive."

Grey took a momet to look at her, Ana's breathing heavy, her face flushed, sweat covering her brow. She thought her words had ruined their moment. That Grey's fire would cool and he'd go back to ignoring her. But then, as if placating her worry, he leaned toward her and kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. He slid his tongue along the nape of her neck, sucking at the flesh umder her ear.

 _And maybe_ _I can make you remember what it's like to feel alive_ , Anastasia thought as she felt Grey's hand slip under her dress.

He wasn't trembling with uncertainty this time, he wasn't holding back. He was frantic to give Ana pleasure and to experience his own. And she was eager to comply.


End file.
